


To Know You're Not Alone

by Minxchester



Series: Born For This [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 04:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxchester/pseuds/Minxchester
Summary: "Of course, Bruce wasn’t her regular type of target; seducing him would require even more delicacy."Series is inspired and titled based on the song "Born For This" by The Score.[For readers who come here for specific ship tags; this is part of a multi-part series of Avengers porn. Each character is linked to multiple ships. The current installment is centrally Nat x Bruce.]





	To Know You're Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I've had to sort my emotions between my lust for Mark Ruffalo and Scarlett Johansson, and my irritation for the butchery of their on-screen dynamic in MCU, in order to achieve the Nat x Bruce pleasure and humor of my dreams. :D

There _ had _ been a bartender. It wouldn’t be a party thrown by Tony Stark if it didn’t have absolutely every possible element of a good time provided, and every detail was done in style.

But at some point the black-uniformed professional disappeared--Thor blandly inquired whether Tony had perhaps insulted her into quitting, but Natasha hid a smirk and pointed out quietly to Steve and Clint that Rhodey had also vanished, after he’d been making eyes at the lovely blonde who Tony had hired to staff the bar--and the party-goers were left to tend to their own mixology needs.

Steve was sprawled comfortably on the couch, nursing a pointless but satisfying beer; Captain America couldn’t get drunk, but he could damned well enjoy the atmosphere, and seeing his friends slowly succumb to intoxication. Clint was angled to lean back against the armrest, his leg extended so that his knee occasionally bumped Steve’s.

It was _ nice_, as boring of a word as that was for the warmth simmering between them. They weren’t open about their intimacy, any more than Clint ever was with Nat; she was perched on the armrest itself at present, so that Clint could rest his head against her thigh in the glossy black and white party dress she was wearing, and no one seemed to pay any more attention than normal to the ease with which the three of them interacted, or touched.

If not for the delicious little sparks and tingles of pleasure that skated over Steve’s skin each time Clint shifted, his leg rubbing against the older man’s ever-so-casually, he’d almost question if it had all been a fever dream.

“Huh. You know, I actually took bartending classes once, and yet--this is terrible,” Tony remarked, eyeing the cocktail that he’d mixed for himself with disappointment. “This is why I pay for the best catering. You’d think my own best friend wouldn’t deprive me of a decent martini just to get lucky. He could have waited until after the party.”

Natasha grinned, though her gaze had darted past Tony to where Bruce was slowly crossing the penthouse, seemingly wandering without a specific destination. “I’ve got you, Stark,” she promised with a wink, sliding off of her perch and sauntering over to the bar. She slipped behind it and got to work, handling the liquor bottles and the gleaming silver cocktail shaker with the confidence of a woman who knew what she was doing.

Steve watched her go; then he watched Clint as the archer’s gaze tracked Bruce, who had paused in his meandering and was now looking over at Natasha as if conflicted. Clint seemed to sense Steve’s eyes on him, and when he looked his way, he smirked at the questioning tilt to Steve’s eyebrows.

“Told you,” he murmured, twisting to position himself more fully on the sofa, and unabashedly swinging both legs up to settle them over Steve’s lap. There was no shift in the conversations and laughter around them. “She’s got her eye on ‘im. Ten bucks says she doesn’t come back to our room tonight.”

Steve tipped his head, surreptitiously watching Bruce as the scientist now slowly approached the bar, his expression half-nervous, half-hopeful. “Twenty says they don’t wait for the party to end.”

Clint perked up, grinning. “Deal. Either way, ‘s my turn to blow you tonight.”

His mouthful of beer nearly came out of Steve’s nose as he snorted, coughing and then rolling his eyes at Clint’s apparent smug satisfaction in having startled him. “Oh, no, anything but that."

Natasha had finished the improved version of the martini that Tony had attempted, and she sent it along to him in Dr. Cho’s capable hands when the other woman swung over to grab herself a fresh glass of Chardonnay.

Next, Nat got to work on her own order, and managed to look as if she didn’t register Bruce coming up to the bar until he was stopping right in front of her, smiling a little shyly as he removed his glasses. She smiled back at him the way she always did; the left corner of her crimson-painted lips tugged upward, her eyebrow matching the movement as she finished pouring.

Grabbing a second glass from beneath the counter, she emptied the shaker into that, and added a cherry before sliding it across to him.

Bruce nodded gratefully, leaning on the bar top so that his face was level with hers; he never could seem to hold himself at his own height. She found it adorable. “How’d a nice girl like you wind up working in a dump like this?” he asked lightly, as if wanting to flirt, but more than ready to be shot down for the effort.

Nat laughed, little more than a quick exhalation, and tilted her head coquettishly, adopting a playfully flapper-girl-esque lilt to her voice. “Fella done me wrong,” she replied, batting her lashes as she succeeded in making him grin.

“You got lousy taste in men, kid.” Bruce toasted her with the cocktail, his posture loosening as his cheesy pick-up line got the banter going.

“He’s not so bad,” Natasha said, with a mock-sigh as she lifted her own glass to her lips. It was like any of hundreds of missions she’d had, where a well-placed hand or touch of the drink’s rim to the mouth could draw the mark’s focus to exactly where she wanted it.

Of course, Bruce wasn’t her regular type of target; seducing him would require even more delicacy than Steve had.

She offered Bruce a conspiratorial look, as if about to confide a secret to him. “Well, he has a temper, but...deep down, he’s all fluff. Fact is, he’s not like anybody I’ve ever known.” Nat knew that her eyes were dancing between teasing, and intense; but there was no better way to be, not with her and Bruce. “All my friends are fighters,” she went on, more softly. “...and then here comes this guy, spends his life avoiding the fight because he knows he’ll win.”

“Sounds amazing.” Bruce looked wistful, which would have almost had her worried that he’d somehow missed she was describing him to his own face--but there was a sadness behind his eyes that was too real. He heard her, and understood--he just didn’t believe it.

Well, she could work on changing that, too.

“He’s also a huge dork,” she added more frankly. As she’d hoped, he jolted a little as he choked on his sip, smiling the way she liked best--surprised, embarrassed, yet also undeniably pleased. Bruce couldn’t help being proud of his genius, no matter his constant self-deprecation, and Natasha cherished that about him.

“Chicks dig that,” she assured him, eyes twinkling above the cherry-red surface of her drink. She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So what do you think...should I fight this? Or run with it?”

“Run with it, right?” He nearly stuttered on the words, and she could have leaned across the bar right that second and planted a kiss on him, if she wasn’t trying so hard to be patient. Bruce had to initiate this, or she knew he’d run away. “Or...did he...what did he do, that was so wrong, to you?”

Bless his fucking soul, he was the patron saint of unnecessary self-restraint.

“Not a damn thing,” Nat replied, and she did nothing to hide the sudden, oh-so-suggestive quirk of her lips and her eyebrow, enjoying the way he glanced at her mouth, his pupils expanding rapidly. Natasha sometimes despised the tricks and tics that she’d learned were the quickest way to get a man where she needed him...but when they came in handy to draw in the ones she actually _ wanted _, well, she couldn’t deny the pleasure that she found in that power. “But never say never...”

She eased out from behind the bar, clinking her glass against his before turning to make her way slowly towards the nearest hallway.

The penthouse was stunningly designed for large-scale parties like this--there were spaces that were obviously open, for their non-Avenger guests, with every need met just by looking to the left or the right. But then there were the areas that were left dimmed, suggesting themselves as off-limits, and Nat knew exactly which one had a helpfully spacious but not-party-accessible single bathroom at its end.

She finished her drink and left it on one of the small tables scattered around for that purpose, then continued down the hallway. Even if she once more hadn’t baited sufficiently, and he didn’t follow her, there was never anything wrong with taking a quiet moment for one’s self.

Glancing at her reflection in the large mirror over the sink, Natasha tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then straightened her dress.

She’d almost chosen something else to wear, but Clint had quite a talent for persuasion--one that involved wielding clever fingers and a talented tongue that knew every inch of her. He’d demonstrated quite skillfully how the looser flow of the dress’s skirt would make any party play that she got up to substantially easier.

Pursing her lips, she smiled faintly and reached up underneath her skirt, hooking her fingers into the elastic of the smoky lace underwear she’d worn, easing them down her legs and off over her high heels.

Maybe Bruce wasn’t going to bite, just yet, but she could always slip this little gift into his breast pocket unnoticed--she _ was _ a master spy, after all--and hope that he would act on that inviration at a later date.

The bathroom door opened behind her without a knock, and if she hadn’t been in the heart of Stark Tower, Natasha might have berated herself for not hearing footsteps while leveling a handgun at the intruder’s head.

But it was their Tower, and she didn’t have a gun on her anyway. Her eyes leapt back to the mirror, and Nat relaxed immediately as she found Bruce staring back at her in the reflection. “I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked--I just--” His eyes dropped, possibly out of shyness; it was quite a bold move for him, following her right into the room without any forewarning.

His gaze landed on her hand, from which her panties were still dangling by their barely-there elastic.

Natasha had to admit, she deeply enjoyed the intensity of the flush that painted his cheeks as he took that in, and seemed to take a much longer amount of time than necessary to comprehend that she was standing there, bare beneath her dress, slowly starting to smirk at him.

“Did you need me, Bruce?” she asked lightly, turning to face him fully.

He licked his lips, seemingly at a loss for words, though his eyes continued to dart from her face to her hand and back again. There was something lurking in the darkening brown of his gaze; not the ‘other guy,’ but a similar sort of power. Bruce was an impressive man on his own, even without that coiled strength hidden within him.

Nat let him stay frozen for a few seconds more, and then--as was apparently her specialty--decided to take matters into her own hands.

Or rather, she threw them into his. She moved her arm just slowly enough that Bruce would register what was happening before Natasha tossed her panties at him. Reflex raised his hand, and he caught them against his chest.

This time he was only frozen for maybe three heartbeats. Then he lifted his hand, pressing the scrap of lace against his face and inhaling deeply.

Natasha didn’t consider herself one to have specific turn-ons--it was really more about who it was in the moment, and then things became habits, and then she wound up being helpless to the right ones, such as the desperate way that Clint would barely get his pants undone before he had to be inside of her, or the way Steve’s eyes flashed when he was done being teased and ready to slam her against the wall--but _ that _, well, that was just...fucking hot.

“You’re aroused.” His voice was rough, so much rougher than she had ever heard it before. It was a hint of the darkness behind the mask of the man, but nothing monstrous. From Natasha’s carefully gathered understanding, they didn’t cross into each other’s heads--but they did share some common traits.

And the predatory gleam, the lust sharpening in his expression right then...well, that was definitely all Banner, but a side of him that he’d not yet shown her. And Natasha _ wanted _.

“Because of me, or one of your others?” he went on, still in that sex-raspy voice. The warrior side of Nat’s mind whispered to remind him that he needed to not get _ too _ wound up, that he couldn’t turn green.

But she knew that he wouldn’t.

“You,” she answered promptly, leaning back against the counter. She lifted her arms, pressing her palms over the edge of the marble, feeling its cool solidity at her back like a buttress. “Soon as you looked at me at the bar.” Natasha pressed her thighs together, rubbing just slightly; this was why she’d skipped stockings. It wasn’t enough to get her anywhere close, but she could feel the moisture gathering at her core, her pussy warming as Bruce continued staring her down. “Always, when you look at me, really.”

He reached back with the hand not holding her panties, flipping the lock on the doorknob. Natasha could have cheered. Bruce stepped towards her, tilting his head. “I think you seriously underestimate the danger of this level of...involvement, Natasha.”

Her smile was closer to a pout, and his eyes went to the full curve of her bottom lip, as Nat had known that they would. “I just want a taste, Bruce. Even just the appetizer. I know that you have to be careful.”

That did bring a hint of a smile to his face; with the heat in his eyes, though, it was still far more intense than the scientist’s usual mild-mannered expressions. “You assume I’ve experimented to know how far I can go safely? That’s giving me quite a lot of credit.”

Natasha leaned back on her hands just a little, inhaling. Her chest rose, the bodice of her dress drawing tight over her breasts, and drew his eyes to the taunting V through which only a shadow of cleavage was shown. “Then maybe I can be your lab partner, Dr. Banner.”

When he moved, she had a flashing memory back to the night she’d recruited him in Calcutta. Bruce had been quiet and calm then, if understandably wary, right up until he chose to test her reaction by abruptly lunging towards her and shouting. This was not even remotely the same; she felt no fear as Bruce closed the tiny amount of space still between them, and even if she had been frightened, she would never have drawn a weapon against him this time.

He had her pinned against the counter with his weight, pressing against her from belly to thighs, and Natasha heard herself make what in any non-sexual context would have been a humiliating noise of need. Vaguely she registered that Bruce had tossed the panties onto the counter--she’d need to remember to grab them, they were nice ones, expensive--and then his hands were cradling her face with a shocking tenderness, comparatively.

Bruce met her gaze, checking once more; when Nat didn’t so much as breathe, or look away, he closed the final inches between their mouths.

He kissed like he fought, as if he was unsure of how he had gotten there, but now the river was unleashed. The dam was broken, and Bruce kissed her as if he was drowning, and she was the oxygen he needed. Natasha could only gasp for air, herself; and he seized the opportunity, his tongue teasing past her lips and tasting her more deeply, as if trying to memorize every fiber of her being.

“Bruce,” she panted, her voice lost in his mouth. “Please, I need--can’t we--”

His hands dropped from where they were cupped around her jaw, settling at her waist. She was forever-aware of the size and strength of Bruce’s hands, but feeling them holding her in place that way, the heat of his skin searing her even through the silky material of her dress...this would be the moment that she could never forget, after tonight.

“Would you believe me if I say that I just--I want to please you?” he asked, barely above a whisper, and yet the words rang in Natasha’s ears. “I want to make you come apart, to be the reason for your pleasure.”

Nat shuddered violently, nodding frantically. “Anything--whatever you like--”

She would have thought, given his constant vigilance and generally quiet demeanor, that she’d be taking the reins during sex. But then again, she’d assumed that with Steve--and while he was happy to let her be in charge now and then, that was absolutely not a given.

It seemed that Bruce was going to prove himself to be similar to the good Captain.

Bruce kissed her once more, deep and exploring, and then he eased to his knees with a grace that she would not have expected from him. Natasha gasped in a breath as his fingers settled at her knees, caressing and stroking without moving higher in any particular hurry.

“I dream about your legs,” she heard him whisper. But before Nat could muster a reply, Bruce leaned forward to pressed his lips against her inner thigh, and the tenderness of the gesture punched the air from her lungs as savagely as if his mouth had touched her pussy directly.

He seemed to be done with hesitation and caution now, which she vastly preferred. His lips continued roaming up the inside of her leg, and his fingers circled around behind her thighs; Nat held herself still, watching him with her bottom lip pinched between her teeth, trying not to move for fear that he would draw away again.

She needn’t have worried.

The skirt of her dress was now in his way, and Natasha started to pry her fingers from the counter’s edge, ready to lift it for him. One of Bruce’s hands left her leg, closing around her wrist and pressing it right back down; Nat gasped as she felt the sheer strength that Bruce had to withhold with every touch. “Just let me,” Bruce whispered, the words caressing over the skin of her inner leg like a physical touch. “Right now, you’re all mine, Natasha Romanoff.”

Later on, Nat was going to be highly embarrassed about the number of whimpers and moans that he was getting out of her without even having touched her pussy.

His hands returned to the back of her thighs, and this time they kept on climbing. Nat sucked in a breath as his palms smoothed over her bare ass, warm and wide, the sensation just barely rough from the calluses on his fingertips.

Reflexively her legs spread further, and now there was a smug almost-smile touching Bruce’s face as he leaned forward, pressing his face directly against the apex of her thighs with the barrier of the skirt still between them. But for Natasha it was as intense as if the fabric wasn’t there, her cunt clenching as he breathed in deeply; she could _ feel _ the air grazing over her core as he inhaled her scent.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he murmured, and now the sensation was reversed, his breath ghosting hot and perfect over her through the dress. “Never knew my heightened senses would be so useful.” Bruce squeezed her ass gently, and Nat shuddered against him, making him chuckle in a remarkably sinful way. “I can’t decide if I’d rather handle you as roughly as I know you can take, or as gently as I’ve fantasized about doing for years.”

“We can come back to gentle, another time,” she purred, reaching out to card her fingers through his hair with a tenderness that contrasted her words. “Please, Bruce. I need you--I trust you.”

She hadn’t even blinked, and suddenly her hand was pinned back to the counter; there was a flash of fire in Bruce’s gorgeous dark eyes, and Natasha knew instantly that she was getting her request.

His hands tightened on her ass, and then she was being lifted right off of her feet.

Nat gasped out a strangled laugh--though it was really closer to a moan--as he placed her beside the sink, perched right at the edge of the counter. The back of her dress protected her skin from the chilled marble, but her front was not gifted the same courtesy; not that she needed or even remotely wanted that. Bruce rucked her skirt up over her hips and hooked the fabric under her fingers, keeping it pinned out of his way, baring her cunt to his view as he pressed her thighs wider apart.

Self-consciousness was not something that Natasha usually experienced, but it wasn’t impossible for her. And seeing the way that Bruce went still where he knelt, staring at her most intimate place, she felt a flush rush down through her body, heat spiraling under her skin. The impulse skated through her to cover herself; Nat kept her hands still with great effort, but her legs trembled, muscles twitching in readiness to press together protectively.

Bruce’s eyes leapt up to meet hers, and they were glowing with heat. His arms flexed, hands hardening and holding her exactly where she was, and then he shifted closer to pressed a kiss to the smooth skin of her mound, centimeters above her clitoris.

It was so fucking soft in comparison to his gaze, and Natasha almost didn’t know how to react to it.

But before she could begin sorting through her tangled feelings, Bruce let out a soft laugh, and _ that _ she felt directly on her clit with the same impact as if he had held a lit candle a breath away from her anatomy. “You’re glistening,” he rumbled. “Fuck, Natasha, I’ve imagined how you’d look--how you’ll _ taste _\--”

She now knew better than to move her hands in an attempt to move things forward, but he hadn’t said a word about other physical means of encouragement. Nat rocked in place, just enough to push her hips forward in offering, and Bruce accepted at once. He almost lunged forward; the first stroke of his tongue landed midway along her slit, then slid upward, lapping between the lips of her pussy until he reached her clit, flicking hard over the little bundle of nerves.

“Fuck!” Natasha couldn’t remember the last first time she’d had with someone eating her out, but Bruce immediately had to be credited for his enthusiasm. It was taking active thought to force herself not to grab fistfuls of his lovely dark curls, wanting to press him back to the floor and just ride his clever mouth. “Fuck, Bruce--yes, please, more, can you--please, I want your tongue inside--”

He obliged her with a low groan that vibrated the slick flesh, and Natasha cried out in surprise at the _ depth _ that he managed to achieve, his tongue slipping between her folds and darting along her inner walls. Bruce kept one hand pressing her thighs open, and the other moved closer to his face, his fingers finding the hooded bud of her clit and pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. Nat squealed, bucking against him and losing her restraint at last, one hand moving to twist into his hair, and the other going to his shoulders, tugging unsteadily at his jacket.

Bruce let out a low laugh, but no punishment came for her moving her hands. Instead he removed _ his _ hands--but before Natasha could protest, he was tugging his jacket off over his shoulders and casting it aside, letting her feel the heat and strength of him through the thinner fabric of his button down.

“Fine, you can touch,” he rasped, and Nat shuddered as she looked down, seeing how slick his lips were from tasting her. “But you’re still not in charge, Black Widow.” He barely waited for her frantic nod before he dove back in.

Apparently granting her freedom with her hands meant that he felt he needed to be more ruthless. Nat gasped as Bruce grabbed behind her thigh again, this time hefting her leg up over his shoulder, bringing her pussy flush against his face. She was left sitting half on the counter and half in a sort of straddle over his arm.

This proved itself to be even more of an improvement than she’d realized, when Bruce returned to dragging his tongue assertively up the length of her cunt, because now she could feel his shoulder and bicep flexing as he supported her body, and he continued eating her out like she was his last damned meal.

“Bruce--fuck, your _ tongue _\--can you--?” She was tugging helplessly at his hair with both hands now, though there was no risk at all of her trying to dictate or guide him; Bruce clearly knew exactly what the hell he was doing. “Fingers, baby, please--”

He gave her an affirming hum that seemed to send shockwaves right up inside of her, and Natasha hunched a little over his head, spasming with pleasure. And then she felt his hands shifting--the one not slunk under her raised leg and gripping the counter for support materialized at her core alongside his mouth.

Maybe he knew she wouldn’t mind the stretch, or maybe he could read from how soaked he had her just how much Nat would be able to take. He plunged two fingers inside of her, instantly relentless as he twisted and crooked them, probing along her inner walls in pursuit of-- “Oh, fuck, yes--there, perfect, there it is,” she groaned, jerking violently as Bruce’s fingers found the tender spot inside of her, rubbing over it roughly and making her see stars.

Natasha hadn’t believed in the G-spot when she had been trained and turned out of the Red Room--and even if someone had demonstrated for her the pleasure that the female body was capable of, it wouldn’t have been relevant in her work back then--but she had become quite confident in what her body was capable of once she’d met Clint. Maybe it was the archer’s past of resorting to prostitution when he’d had to, but he knew his way around pleasing a partner, and he had helped Nat learn every angle and element of what made her feel best.

Bruce was surprising her every minute, because he seemed equally self-assured as he worked on her with fingers and mouth, his lips and tongue targeting her clit with singular focus while his hand managed to find every last nerve ending inside, and making them sing.

“I’m close,” she whimpered, and the words almost took Natasha herself by surprise. Her entire body was quivering, her inner walls clenching down on his fingers, and every taunting flick and rub of his tongue tip over her clit sent fire pulsing through her veins. “Bruce, please--I need to come, please?”

He _ growled _ , and if he had not intended that to be permission then that was too fucking bad. Because the vibration of that sound--and the fact that it had come from Bruce himself in the first place--coupled with the ongoing ministrations of his mouth and hand were too much to resist.

Nat shattered, her leg tightening against his shoulder hard enough that the heel of her shoe was pressing into his back, her inner walls squeezing his fingers as he sucked her clit to draw out the orgasm. Distantly, she thought that he might be whispering against her pussy, his breath hot and stimulating and perfect as she rode the aftershocks.

Bruce rose to his feet as she was coming down from the tidal wave of sensations, his fingers still working leisurely inside of her. Nat sagged against his chest, panting, and when she dropped her face to look down at his hand still coaxing pleasure from her, she realized that at some point he’d already undone his pants.

The hard curve of his erection was straining against his underwear through the open V of his zipper, and Natasha didn’t even try to hold back the pornographic whine that escaped her at the sight. “Bruce, holy fuck.”

“I know.” His voice was wry as he leaned back to better let them both see what was undeniably the largest, thickest, most intimidating cock that Nat had ever laid eyes on. “One of the few things that the gamma radiation did for me that would be almost amusing to share...but I try not to brag.” He eased his fingers out of her cunt, making Nat shudder through the final threads of her climax, and she groaned as Bruce lifted his hand and sucked her flavor from his fingers.

“You should,” she said frankly, reaching out to curve her fingers around him through his cotton briefs; if she tried, she doubted her fingers would meet around the circumference. “Brag, I mean. Because--holy fuck. Bozhe moy, Bruce.” Natasha peeked up, seeing the spasms of pleasure in his expression as she touched him, and she smirked. “Have you--I mean, since the radiation, have you ever--”

“No.” Bruce nudged her hand away, but he wasn’t retreating from her. He shifted in closer, pressing his body into the space between her legs, and when he was flush against her Natasha could feel the searing heat of him even through his briefs, rubbing lazily against her pussy. Bruce was rocking his hips, just a little, and the friction of his clothed cock against her bare, come-slick cunt made Nat whimper, gripping his shoulders as she let him rut against her.

“Never wanted to risk hurting anyone,” Bruce went on, and his voice was rougher now. Peering between them, Nat could see that the front of his briefs was darkened by moisture; she couldn’t tell if it was from him or her, but it made her tremble with need, and she shimmied closer to the counter’s edge, spreading her thighs as widely as she could to accommodate him. “Hot as it is to talk about splitting someone open, I don’t actually want to chance it happening.”

Nat licked her lips, sliding her hands around to cup his ass through his pants, pulling at him to encourage the slow humping. “What about someone’s hands?”

Bruce shuddered a little at her breathy words, and when Nat glanced back up to check on him, he cupped her face with the hand that he’d had inside of her--she could _ smell _ herself on his skin still, sweet and delicious and arousing--and tipped her face up so he could kiss her roughly.

“‘Someone’s’?” he repeated against her lips, his tone somewhere between possessive, and challenging. “Anyone specific whose hands you’d recommend, Agent Romanoff?”

Natasha whimpered, but he wasn’t controlling her movements anymore. She reached between them again, impatiently getting his pants completely open and then working his briefs down, lowering them enough to expose what _ felt _ like a cock that shared the size and thickness of her goddamn forearm.

“Mine,” she countered, and it wasn’t clear if she was answering the question, or staking a claim as she wrapped her fingers as far as she could around him. Bruce’s entire body jolted, a low rumbling snarl escaping him as he tilted his upper body back in order to watch her.

She needed lubricant. Natasha smirked as an impish thought struck her; her fingers went to her pussy, stroking over her now slightly over-sensitive slit and gathering a sufficient smearing of come and saliva from Bruce’s attentions before. He cursed softly, which she counted as a victory considering that he was possibly the least foul-mouthed Avenger on the team. Natasha grinned wider, moving her slick hand back to his cock, beginning to stroke him in earnest.

“You are sin incarnate,” Bruce muttered, and Nat laughed at that. “I’m--not going to last long, Natasha, not with you--”

“Inhuman cock, but completely human libido, hm?” she purred, using her free hand to draw him down for another kiss. Bruce huffed against her mouth, sliding his hands under the rumbled folds of her dress and cupping her ass. They were no larger than they’d been before, and yet with his cock in her hands, Nat genuinely felt as if his palms were equally enhanced, as if he was encompassing the firm curves of her ass without even spreading his damned fingers.

She gasped as he drew her closer, her weight feeling more supported by his hands alone than by the counter at this point. It brought their groins back together, and now she could feel him directly, no barrier of cotton between them; only her own hand occasionally blocked his cock from rubbing along the dripping line of her cunt.

“It’s you,” Bruce grunted back, his lips grazing her ear as he panted the words, thrusting shallowly into her grip, and Nat’s toes curled inside of her shoes at the searing lust in his voice. “You--you undo me, Natasha, all I want--fuck, I need--”

Nat slipped her fingers around the back of his enormous length, drawing it away from his belly and pressing it against her core, and Bruce groaned gutturally. “Close enough?” she gasped, and he nodded against the side of her throat, seemingly struck mute as he frotted against her, rutting along her pussy.

“Iisus Khristos,” Nat moaned, feeling his hands clench harder into her ass. “It’s so fucking _ long _\--can feel you--from my ass to my clit, yebena mat--” Whether in response to her words, or on his own impulse, one of Bruce’s fingers had probed into the seam of her ass, tauntingly close to another hole entirely.

“Something to discuss later,” she thought she heard him mutter, and Nat gave a grunt of laughter.

“Guess you do want to split me open on this beast, after all--oh, _ fuck _ \--” Natasha cried out as he hauled her in tighter again, and she _ felt _ the pulsing throbs that surged along the massive cock in her hand. “Do it--baby, please, come for me--”

This time, the bone-deep sound that left Bruce actually did sound vaguely as if the other guy _ was _ edging in. Natasha sucked in a shocked breath as she felt Bruce’s orgasm crash over him.

The sensation of his release spilling over her fingers and pussy was comparable only to the rare times when she made use of an adjustable shower head for masturbation. It was almost an explosion, heat and liquid and overwhelming _ pleasure _ making her mind go blank as she simply lived in the moment, barely able to catch her breath.

“Haven’t...done that before,” Bruce eventually said into the quiet between them, his voice ragged. “I mean, I’ve let myself--I’ve done the first part, I’ve enjoyed making someone else feel--but only if they somehow didn’t know who I was. Easier that way.”

Natasha swallowed, a sting of grief sliding coldly into the bliss still rippling throughout her body. It was stabilizing, letting her sit up--she had to shift a little to get her ass back on the actual counter, taking some of her weight off of Bruce’s arms--and she carded her hands into his hair tenderly, letting him have the moment.

“Haven’t had someone else see me like that since...before,” Bruce concluded, his voice once more faintly self-deprecating.

“Thank you for letting me,” she whispered back, tipping his face up and kissing him before he could start trying to find condemnation or disgust in her expression. There wouldn’t be an ounce there, but she knew Bruce would convince himself that he could find it. “I’m hoping you’ll let me again, sometime.”

A startled, rather adorable smile broke across his face. “I...yeah. Yes.”

Satisfied, Natasha sat back a little and looked down--and then she snorted. “...good thing we have bedrooms here in the Tower. Looks like I’m going to have to text Clint to bring me a dress change.”

“Huh?” Bruce glanced down too, and then gave a startled laugh. “Ah, yeah...um...I’m sorry?” Reaching behind her, he grabbed the hand towel hanging above the sink, wetting it to begin cleaning what was a truly shocking volume of come from Natasha’s hands.

“I hope you’re not actually sorry,” she quipped, letting him finish before leaning back on her hands to allow Bruce access to the rest of his mess. Natasha had to admit, it was surprisingly sexy to watch him wipe his own release up from her thighs and pussy. “I insist on you swearing that you’re going to do it again.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked up to meet hers again, his hands slowly in the process of cleaning her off. There was both seriousness and humor in their depths. “Do your others want me, too, or is it just you and me?”

Nat smirked, placing her hand over his as he finished cleaning the streaks of semen from between her legs. “The others get to make their own decisions. I’m not the spokeswoman.”

Setting the towel aside, Bruce nodded, leaning in to kiss her again, deep and leisurely. “Fair enough. And I suppose you have my oath, since you insisted. I do apologize for the state of the dress, though.”

“Eh, it not’s good sex if you don’t wind up with come stains on your clothes.” Natasha grinned, grabbing her phone and shooting Clint a text. “I’ll refresh before going back out there.” Seeing his arm move in her periphery, Nat glanced up from her phone, and she inhaled soft and quick as Bruce reached over to pick up her discarded panties from the counter. “Are you--”

He smirked, arching his eyebrows as he gave them one more sniff before sliding them into his pocket, and doing his pants back up. “You can earn them back another day.”

Nat licked her lips, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and tugging him in for a deep kiss, licking into his mouth and savoring the faint moan he let out in response. “I look forward to it, Dr. Banner.”

Sliding off of the counter, she turned to offer him her back. “Unzip me?”

He eased the dress open for her, and Natasha shivered as she felt him in lean in close, his lips brushing over the base of her neck as the dress slipped down a few inches. “No bra, either,” Bruce murmured, a smile in his voice. “You really are quite the tease with your wardrobe, Romanoff.”

There was a faint pattern of quiet knocks on the door, and Nat let her dress fall with a playful little shimmy before going to open it with complete self-assurance.

Clint smirked, handing her the little black dress he’d fetched from her room. “What, did he rip the first one in half?” Tilting his head to peer past her, he shot Bruce a wink before Nat shut the door on him. “I’ll take the dry-cleaning tomorrow! And fuck, I owe Steve twenty bucks...”

Natasha rolled her eyes fondly as she slipped on the new dress, then slid her arms around Bruce’s shoulders, pressing herself close against him. “Thank you.”

He kissed her one final time, simultaneously sweet and erotic as his tongue teased at hers. “I should be thanking you, for not giving up on seducing me,” Bruce replied, chuckling at her coy smirk. “I’ll be sure to be significantly less stubborn in the future.” He dropped one hand to her backside, giving it a squeeze that made her highly-aware of her lack of underwear. “And next time, you’re going to be on all fours for me.”

Grinning at the stunned lust that flashed over Natasha’s face, Bruce gave her a wink of his own before he slipped out of the bathroom, leaving her to gather her composure before returning to the party.

**Author's Note:**

> Shit, I'm literally such a hopeless hoe for Clint Barton.


End file.
